


Dragons Over the Water

by PanBoleyn



Series: The Iron Gauntlet and the Silk Glove [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age Changes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brightflame Targaryens, F/M, Gen, House Blackfyre, House Targaryen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 20:41:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16502363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanBoleyn/pseuds/PanBoleyn
Summary: After the rebirth of dragons, Dany leads her tiny khalasar into the Red Waste, guided by the red comet. With Rhaegal's focus ever more on the young man who calls himself Jon Storm, the time has come for secrets to be revealed, and for dragons to march forward to their fates.Oh, and there may be others whose paths will join to theirs.Dany's ACoK and ASoS arcs in the Iron and Silk 'verse, with Blue Aegon along for the ride and some unexpected newcomers in store.





	Dragons Over the Water

Dany begins to question Jon Storm’s story once they’re settled in Vaes Tolorro, with nothing to do but recover while her bloodriders are out searching for civilization. In part, she does this because Jon Storm, now Jon Connington by her decree, is easier to think about than Ser Jorah, than the sad tale of his Lynesse and the way he had kissed her. The angry sorrow she feels, because she is fond of him but does not love him - and yet how dare he take such liberties unbidden?

  
  


Much easier to think of her stormlord, and important too, for once she does take the time, it seems there is much to question in what he’s told her.

  
  


He says he is the son of Jon Connington and a Tyroshi woman, and she knows from both him and Ser Jorah that Jon Connington was indeed a man loyal to her family. “He was a friend of Prince Rhaegar, but he lost a battle, so your father exiled him as punishment,” Ser Jorah had explained. Dany had thought that harsh, but certainly her father wouldn’t have left him there forever. It was only to send a message. 

  
  


It was sad that his punishment became permanent due to the Usurper’s crimes. 

  
  


One day, she must ask Ser Jorah why they rebelled. Viserys said it was pure greed for the throne, and something about Rhaegar running away with Lyanna Stark like in a great romance. But Viserys was only a boy at the time, and Ser Jorah had spoken of both Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon as he would of men he knew at least in passing. Surely they never would have found support enough to take the throne unless they had some reason others could understand. 

  
  


It doesn’t make them less wrong, but if she’s going to claim her birthright one day, Dany thinks she must know what convinced so many to abandon their rightful king in the first place. It can’t all have been because a prince ran away with a lord’s daughter - the Starks should have been honored, surely, that a lady of their house was loved by a dragon. There is something she doesn’t know, like there was something she didn’t know in Illyrio’s house, when she could see no true reason for him to support Viserys’ claim.

  
  


She should ask, and she should ask Jon what his father taught him before he died. And yet… 

  
  


Rhaegal likes him. All three of Dany’s dragons cleave to her, as children to a mother, yet Jon Storm is as capable of soothing Rhaegal as she is. He can even feed her green dragon without fear, when her handmaids struggle to avoid all three dragons biting them. His twin cousins Daron and Damon are more accepted by the dragons too, though they do not have the same success that Jon has had. 

  
  


And all three of them have purple eyes. 

  
  


Dany remembers her time in Lys, how  _ wonderful  _ it had been to be in a city where she and Viserys did not stand out. She had been ten the first time and fourteen the second, and she always felt strangely safe in Lys, because everywhere she turned there were others with the same silver-gold hair and light eyes (often purple, but sometimes blue or grey or even green) that she and her brother possessed. Living in Lys, she thought, was like how it must have been in the Red Keep, in the days of King Jaehaerys I or Daeron II, when the Targaryen family swelled to its greatest numbers.

  
  


There were those with the Valyrian look in Tyrosh, to be sure, and perhaps that is where Jon and his cousins get their eyes. Certainly the twins’ dark hair cannot come from any Valyrian-blooded kin. They say their family is Lorathi by blood, that Jon’s mother had only moved to Tyrosh. Dany had only spent a single night in Lorath on the way to Qohor when she was fifteen. Viserys had been told by some street prophet in Myr that the Black Goat of Qohor would help him back to his throne, but of course the sorcerer-priests had only laughed at him.

  
  


Lorath, Dany knows, is chilly and damp, though she has heard many say the temple of their Winged Lady is a lovely sight. She does not know if there are any of Valyrian blood there, but there probably is, like the other Free Cities.

  
  


It could all be simple. It  _ could be _ . But now that Rhaegal is so bound to Jon, Dany cannot help but wonder if there’s more to this. 

  
  


With Ser Jorah’s story about his lost wife still ringing in her ears, she sends Jhiqhi to bring her Jon Storm. When he comes, Rhaegal sits up in his crate, chirping excitedly. Jon looks at the dragon, then at Daenerys - and he seems to come to some decision. “My queen, I must confess.” 

  
  


“Confess to what?”

  
  


Jon kneels before her, but he doesn’t bow his head. Looking at him straight on like this, she can see the light hair growing in at his roots, untouched by the blue dye. It’s not enough new growth to be certain of the color, but it looks to be very like her own. And this close, Jon’s eyes remind her of the eyes she sees in the looking glass, in shape as much as in color. “How much do you know of the history of your dynasty? Before your father and brother and the Rebellion.” 

  
  


“My brother Viserys ensured I knew the story of the Conquest, and he spoke of other things over the years. One of the books Ser Jorah gifted me was a history of my house to the time of my grandfather Jaehaerys the Second. What has this to do with your confession?” 

  
  


“You know, then, of Aerion Brightflame and his disinherited son, and of House Blackfyre?” 

  
  


Dany does, in fact, know both of those names. Her brother had mentioned both occasionally, and her book had told her much more. “Yes, but what has that to do with you?” 

  
  


Jon looks up at her, and there is a strange grief in his face. “Balerion Targaryen, son of Aerion, was spirited from Westeros by his mother the Princess Daenora, who made common cause with Rhaenyra Blackfyre, widow of Haegon and Aenys. When they came of age, Balerion, who called himself Rion, married Jacaera, the daughter of Rhaenyra and Aenys, uniting two claims to the Iron Throne.” 

  
  


“What has this to do with you?” Dany repeats sharply, though she thinks she already knows. What she doesn’t know is what she should do about it. 

  
  


“They took refuge in Lorath, and took the name d’Altari. As you know, that is the name my cousins use. We are d’Altari, children of both the red and black dragon.”

  
  


Dany’s first thought is that the three of them came to kill her, but that makes no sense. They’ve had multiple opportunities, and it’s that which stays her from calling for Ser Jorah. That, and the undeniable truth that her dragons trust the d’Altari boys, and if what she is hearing is true then Rhaegal may well see Jon as his future rider.

  
  


“Well,” she says after a long, silent moment. “I am the last of the true line of House Targaryen. If you came to me in hopes of offering an alliance with these exiled bloodlines, then… It’s not a terrible way to rebuild my family’s House.”

  
  


“There’s more,” Jon says carefully. “The twins’ true names are Daeron and Daemon. Mine… My true name is Aegon.” 

  
  


“Aegon Targaryen or Aegon Blackfyre? And did you ever actually meet the late Lord Connington?” 

  
  


“I did. He is my foster father. I… I suppose I did not do him a true honor by claiming him as my natural father, but he is the only father I have ever known. You see… My name is Aegon Targaryen, it’s true. But, if what I have been raised to believe all my life is true, you are not the last scion of your branch of the family.” 

  
  


And at that, everything stills. The words ring in Dany’s ears as she stares into eyes that all but match her own, and she cannot ask. But she does not have to, for Jon -  _ Aegon  _ \- goes on. 

  
  


“There was a Princess of Dorne, Ariella Martell. She took as her consort Julus d’Altari, firstborn child of Rion and Jacaera. Their daughter Elia married your brother Prince Rhaegar. They lived together at Dragonstone, and both their children were born there. Princess Rhaenys had been presented at court, but the infant Prince Aegon had not. When Rhaegar vanished with Lyanna Stark and the war began, King Aerys summoned the little family to court. Before she left, Princess Elia and the spymaster Aerys swapped the prince for a peasant boy born to a Lyseni whore. Princess Rhaenys was just old enough that a decoy could not be relied on - a toddler wouldn’t cleave to a stranger as her mother, and someone might notice her face had changed.”

  
  


Suddenly Dany flares back to life again, hand lashing out to strike Aegon across the face. “How dare you! My niece and nephew and their mother were brutally murdered, and you dare to claim his name?!”

  
  


Aegon steadies himself, Dany’s slap having unbalanced him. “I have been raised as Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Elia. I concede that it is impossible to be certain. I  _ am  _ certain that I’m a d’Altari or they would not support me, and so I’m an heir to their claims. They  _ do  _ support me; the d’Altaris have helped see to my education, and my cousins were placed with me so that I would know the family. I believe I am your nephew, but I know well that there is little proof. Jon tells me I resemble my uncle Oberyn in my features - he does not like it, I can tell, save that it may one day convince my uncles to support me - but as he is half d’Altari, I suppose that’s not conclusive either.”

  
  


“Why are you here?” Dany demands. 

  
  


“Illyrio wished for you and Viserys to invade with the Dothraki. I was to come to Westeros later, to rescue the country and you from the savages. This seemed unwise, to me. Anyway, you and Viserys had provable claims, I did not. That is still true. But I like you, my Queen. I think until recently you liked me.” 

  
  


“Is this a  _ proposal  _ as well as a confession?” What is she to make of this?

  
  


“It is a suggestion. We could put two free companies at your disposal, the Golden Company and my family’s Cliff Dragons. Jon served in the Golden Company, he is already reaching out to them again, or so he was planning when I left, quite against his wishes.”

  
  


“Why did you not speak up sooner? Why did you not offer this to Viserys, who was your uncle and your king? You may be Rhaegar’s heir, if you were told the truth of your origins, but Viserys said our father made him heir after the Trident and our mother crowned him, which made him your king as well as mine. How could you deny him?”

  
  


Dany fights to ignore the fact that she herself denied Viserys in the end. She had no choice, he was threatening her unborn son. What else could she do? If he had not gone so far, she would have given him whatever he needed, as his sister.

  
  


“Because he was as mad as his father.” 

  
  


“Those are lies put about by the Usurper,” Dany says coldly. “You shame your kin - be it your grandfather or distant cousin - by repeating them.” And yet… Viserys was mad, in the end, wasn’t he? And her book told her other Targaryens had been mad… 

  
  


It couldn’t be true.

  
  


“You should ask Ser Jorah. He was a bannerman of Lord Stark in the Rebellion. I believe he serves you from loyalty and love now, but he was there and would know why they rose up. And you trust him more than I imagine you do me, right now. But I - there are things I was raised to know and understand. I was trained to rule in a way you couldn’t have been, for you lived on the run. I seek only to be your consort - you can prove your claim and I cannot. I would help you.”

  
  


“Be silent. I cannot - you need to leave. I need to think.” It’s the only thing she can say. How can she possibly have any answers for him when he’s just told her these impossible things?

  
  


Aegon nods, and rises to his feet to leave. Dany watches him go, fists clenched tight. Once he’s gone, she goes outside herself, ignoring Rhaegal’s grumbles now that his  _ favorite’s  _ gone. Tilting her head back, she finds the red comet, her guiding star.  _ Oh _ , how she wishes it could guide her in this. 

  
  


She believes Aegon, to an extent. It’s too convoluted to be entirely a lie - if it were a lie, it would be more straightforward, more easily believable. So she believes, if nothing else, that these d’Altaris of Lorath are indeed the product of a marriage between Targaryen and Blackfyre in exile. It makes sense that they would only put their support behind someone who is of their line, so Aegon must be one of them. And it explains Rhaegal’s preference for him, how all her dragons are most at ease around him and his cousins, as nothing else can. They too are blood of the dragon. She is less certain that Aegon is really her nephew. He said so himself; he was told that all his life, but he can’t possibly know beyond any doubt that he was told the truth.

  
  


She still has questions, not least of which is how Illyrio is involved. Because she remembers his expression when the three young men had arrived at her wedding. He’d been most displeased, though he’d hidden it quickly. And she’d seen him talking intently to them, later on during the feast. At the time, she’d thought it disapproval at the intrusion, but now…

  
  


Still, for all the unanswered questions, Dany is strangely glad not to be the only one left who carries the blood of the dragon. 

  
  


<><><>

  
  


“How did it go?” Daemon asks when Aegon slips back into their tent. The look on his face must be answer enough, because the twins exchange worried looks. Aegon ignores them, dropping onto his sleeping mat, hands folded over his stomach.

  
  


“Better than I feared, worse than I hoped. She slapped me,” he says, chuckling without mirth. “For dishonoring her dead nephew’s name. But then I explained, and she heard me out. I think she believes me about the d’Altaris. Not sure she believes I’m her nephew.” 

  
  


“Well, there’s been times  _ you  _ didn’t believe it,” Daeron points out fairly. 

  
  


This is true. Most of the time, Aegon thinks it doesn’t much matter. He is who there is, and someone should seek justice for Elia Martell and her daughter Rhaenys. If the young man who plans to do it isn’t really her son, well… He can still do his best for them. Other times, the idea that perhaps he has been lied to all his life galls him. 

  
  


But since he will never be certain either way, he usually does his best not to think about it. He is Aegon Targaryen, heir of the d’Altari, the prince Daenora Targaryen and Rhaenyra Blackfyre sought to create when they married their children to each other. Whether he is also the heir of Rhaegar and Elia or not, he will honor them as a son should, and that is the best that anyone can do.

  
  


“I think she only believes me because of Rhaegal. But that he likes me so much is powerful evidence of my dragon blood. And of yours, that all three of them are more tolerant of you than anyone else.” 

  
  


“True,” Daemon agrees. “But I’m glad enough not to have one imprinting on me. Give me a good horse any day!”

  
  


“I’d rather a ship, myself,” Daeron says. “But otherwise I agree with my brother. I would not be suited to the air. Still, if one must be around dragons, better that the dragons not want to spit flame.”

  
  


Aegon can’t argue that, certainly. “I think I would like it. Riding dragonback, I mean. But it’ll be a long time before those dragons can carry anyone at all. And out here, we can’t even send word to anyone about it. Jon will want to know.”

  
  


“And Great-Aunt Julilla,” Daeron says. “Her last note said that she was sending Alianne to stay with a cousin. Remember? One of her daughters became the mistress of a Westerosi noble? Well, the girl made a good marriage, and now her cousin will serve as her attendant and watch for us.” 

  
  


“Alianne studied magic, doesn’t she?” Aegon asks as Daemon scoffs. Once, he’d have scoffed as well, unconvinced by magic. But he saw what Mirri Maz Duur did, he saw Daenerys walk into flame and come out untouched save for burned-off hair and clothing. Now, Aegon can’t help but wonder if it’s not that magic was fakery, but that it had become too weak to be of use. Perhaps now… 

  
  


Daeron shrugs. “Magic never interested me much, so I can’t say. Probably, though - a lot of the temple dedicates make a study of wind or water or healing in ways that they call magic. The Lady was once said to be a patron of magic, though outside the temple that part’s mostly gone out of people’s minds.”

  
  


Aegon sighs, thinking of the strange images in the shadows, that night the maegi promised to save Khal Drogo. “Maybe whatever made the dragons die made magic all but disappear? Or maybe magic disappearing made the dragons die.”

  
  


“Well, that’s concerning,” Daemon says, and Aegon sits up at the sudden tension in his cousin’s voice. Daeron looks as puzzled as Aegon feels, both of them looking to Daemon for an explanation. He shrugs, running his whetstone along the length of one of his daggers, the motion practiced enough that he doesn’t need to look down. “Well, say all this talk is right, that dragons’ rebirth means magic back in the world, whichever caused the other. Well, all the talk of magic comes with dark legends too. What if other things come back?” 

  
  


Aegon blinks. “Well, all the more reason to have dragons and those who know spells on our side, just in case?”

  
  


<><><>

  
  


They do not speak of bloodlines again until after two of Dany’s bloodriders return, speaking of dragon bones and a desolate beach, of more abandoned cities like Vaes Tolorro. “Jon, walk with me,” Dany calls Aegon away from where he’s helping to pull up paving stones. 

  
  


They walk in silence at first, broken by members of the khalasar who come up to speak to Dany rather than by either of them, until they find themselves walking in the overgrown gardens surrounding what must have once been a great manse, perhaps even the home of whoever used to rule here. “I want you to wash the dye from your hair,” Dany finally says, and as small a command as it is, it is a command. “I will not have you hiding your identity further. If your cousins are dyeing their hair, the same goes for them.” 

  
  


“They are not, they have their father’s dark hair, so I’m told. I never met him,” Aegon says, and his voice is so even Dany cannot tell how he feels about her orders. 

  
  


“You’ve met their mother, though?” 

  
  


“Yes. Lemore was a septa - or, at least, she was at the motherhouse in Lorath, learning to be one. She’s never actually said either way if she got to the point of taking vows before she found her lover, the man who sired the twins. But when she bore them, she had to either give her sons up or leave. Fortunately, she was in contact with my uncle Doran Martell. She told me once that the plan had been for her to come to Dorne, until I was brought to Essos instead after the fall of King’s Landing.” 

  
  


“And so she raised you, with Jon Connington?” Dany asks. She thinks the best way to understand how Aegon could be, specifically, her brother’s son Aegon - or at least how those who raised the man beside her could convincingly claim so, and teach him to believe it - is to understand where Aegon came from. How he was raised. 

  
  


“Well, not at first. Until I was five, almost six, I lived in Pentos, at Illyrio’s manse. His wife was a d’Altari, too. He himself is a Butterwell on his mother’s side - his kin were exiled after the Second Blackfyre Rebellion, that’s why he was willing to help us. It was he who involved Varys the Spymaster, they’re old allies - Varys helped nudge King Aerys into choosing Elia Martell as his heir’s bride.” 

  
  


“Illyrio is a supporter of your claim? But why did he take Viserys and I in at all then? We were at his mercy. You say that he wanted Drogo to invade, and then you would come in as the hero to save Westeros - and me? How should I need to be saved?” 

  
  


Aegon shifts, uncomfortable, and seems suddenly very interested in one of the climbing vines. “Well… he assumed your marriage with Drogo would always be terrible, and that you would welcome a new husband, one of the proper royal bloodlines. I have to admit that I think Illyrio didn’t want your brother to survive.” 

  
  


Dany scowls. On one hand, she had long since admitted that, whether he had the right or not, her brother Viserys would have made a terrible king. On the other… “Again I say, why bother? He could have had Viserys killed, and married me directly to you. Would that not make more sense?” 

  
  


Aegon finally looks at her again. “Why do you think I’m here? I haven’t seen Illyrio since a brief visit at the age of ten. I have dim fond memories of him as a foster father, it’s true, but I do not  _ know  _ him, or how what Varys told him of circumstances in Westeros affected his planning. But when we were told of the marriage for you to Khal Drogo, it made no sense. So I left with my cousins to join you, and figure out where to go from there, by my own choice, not anyone else’s.” 

  
  


“Where were you?” 

  
  


“On a Rhoyne poleboat called the  _ Shy Maid _ . That has been my home since I was six, save for the times I lived in cities or villages to learn how the smallfolk of various places live.” He goes on to tell her about Jon Connington and Septa Lemore, the married couple Yandry and Ysilla, Rolly Duckfield the hedge knight and Haldon the Halfmaester. 

  
  


“It sounds as if you have been raised to come out of a children’s fable,” Dany says bitterly. “While my brother and I were left to scrabble in city streets.” 

  
  


“I know,” Aegon says, and this time he does not look away, meeting her angry gaze squarely. “I don’t know why we didn’t help you, Daenerys. I am not much older than you, I certainly saw no decisions nor had any say in them. But Viserys’ madness - I’m sorry, but he was too much like your father. It would have been terrible.” 

  
  


Dany flares up at that. “I told you, those are foul lies, and you shame us all by speaking them!” They have to be. Yes, Viserys was mad, and yes, there have been mad Targaryens, her book told her that, but she cannot believe her father was mad. If he was, then why not simply raise her brother Rhaegar up to be Prince Regent? Why rebel against them all? 

  
  


“I’m sorry, but they are not. My foster father, Jon Connington, was as loyal to the Targaryen crown as any man, and the things he saw at court… It was to Rhaegar all looked, and when he died, I was a baby, Viserys a boy, Rhaenys a toddling girl and you unborn. The King was not a man anyone could look to. Your mother… had she lived, perhaps she…” 

  
  


“But she did not.” Because of her, Viserys had said once, blaming Dany for their mother’s death. But that isn’t fair. Women die in childbed often enough, it’s not a child’s fault. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s the fault of the man who put the child in its mother’s womb.

  
  


“No. But your father -” 

  
  


“Stop,” Dany holds up a hand. “I will not hear this. Perhaps he was… under strain, because his lords rebelled where they should have been loyal, or perhaps he was ill. But I will not have traitors’ lies poured into my ears. Jon Connington may be a loyal man, but my father exiled him for failure, and he had reason to feel hurt and angry. Perhaps in exile he’s come to believe the tales of madness, because they comfort him. You should not let them poison your thoughts.”

  
  


She can see that he wants to argue. But he doesn’t. And the next time she sees him, he has washed the dye from his hair, which now shines in the sunlight, the same silver-gold as her own. 

  
  


Dany likes the sight, but she must now tell Ser Jorah all she knows. So she summons him, and relates all that Aegon told her. It doesn’t surprise her when he urges her not to trust them. “Khaleesi, they must be lying to you. Your nephew Prince Aegon was murdered. I didn’t see the bodies, but all know that Tywin Lannister presented them wrapped in crimson cloaks to hide the blood. All also know of the rift that grew between Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon over it - though when Stark’s sister was found dead in Dorne, they mended their quarrel.” 

  
  


“Stark fought with Baratheon over the murder of Elia and her children?” Dany says, skeptical. “Why should he do that?” 

  
  


Ser Jorah shrugs. “He did not think it honorable to kill children.” 

  
  


“But it was honorable to rise up against his lawful king?” 

  
  


Her bear looks uncomfortable at that, and Dany, still remembering Aegon’s words of madness, swallows hard, making herself ask. “How could anyone think such treachery honorable, Ser Jorah?” 

  
  


“Khaleesi, it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you let me take those lying fools’ heads before they can do us harm.” 

  
  


“I don’t think they are lying - not completely. This story about Brightflame and Blackfyre is too elaborate. It would be foolish to make up such a lie. The part about Aegon being Rhaegar’s son could very well be a lie, but I think if it is, it was one told to him as well.” 

  
  


“Jon Connington died of drink in Tyrosh. I rode with the Golden Company very briefly, they all knew about it. He stole funds, then drank them away,” Jorah insists, obstinate.

  
  


“I will not order their execution, Jorah. Rhaegal likes Aegon, so much it seems they may be meant for each other. And all of my dragons tolerate him and the twins more than anyone else. That tells me they are blood of the dragon. Now that we are exiles together, a dragon is a dragon, black or red or both.”

  
  


“So you will wed him then? A boy whose provenance can never be proven, to match with the last true Targaryen?” Dany can hear the bitterness in his voice, and she bites back a sigh. This, she thinks, is not the sensible counsel of a loyal knight, but the jealousy of a man who loves his queen in a way he should not. 

  
  


Part of Dany wishes she could love him as he wishes, but she knows she cannot. She cannot give him her love, not in the way a woman loves a man, but she will give him back his home. To do that, she must consider every option. “I am too recently widowed to consider marrying anyone. If his kin can prove useful allies, I may consider it. All the dragons are exiled now; perhaps I should take it as a sign that we must unite to retake Westeros, instead of continuing a feud that weakened the true bloodline and ruined the lesser ones.” 

  
  


The comet had come to show her the path she must take, and Aegon had been moved by their march, by her bringing the dragons to life, to tell her truths she could use. It could all be seen as part of one story, part of how she will come to her father’s throne. 

  
  


She almost asks Jorah again, how Eddard Stark could have found the murder of a woman and children too much for his honor when treachery against his rightful king was not. But then Jhiqui calls to her, “Khaleesi! Jhogo has returned, with companions!” 

  
  


Jhogo and those he brings with him are more important to Dany and her small khalasar than the past. One day she will have to ask someone who was truly a witness, and take in the answers, whatever they might be. When that day comes she will not ignore the truth, she promises herself, but for now, she does not yet need to know.

  
  



End file.
